


White Light

by Mizzy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Character, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for sammessiah's Anti-Christmas 2009 for bloodquartz.  Insert fic to "On the head of a pin."  Dark!BAMF!Sam.</p><p>Alistair's going to regret touching what belongs to Sam...</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodquartz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodquartz/gifts).



_“Nuh-uh. Not so fast. You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of.. white light? If only. 45 minutes… Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first, remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece right in front of us. Made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming.”_

\---------------

“Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn’t kill seven angels. She’d kill a hundred, a thousand. Oh, go ahead, send me back. If you can.”

Sam lets Alistair have his moment of gloating. It will be his last. Lets him have this last high before Sam brings him down, because the descent from that will be all the more sweet. 

So Sam waits, pauses, can feel Castiel’s eyes, locked on what Sam’s about to do. Sam feels almost giddy with the power, but his anger keeps him steady. Alistair deserves to suffer, and Sam can make that happen.

It’s obvious the moment Alistair realizes that something is wrong. Sam remains placid. He knows from a lifetime of experience that when people shout and yell and punch you, that somehow hurts less than a meaningful silence. 

“I’m stronger than that now,” Sam says, cold and calm, and the air sings with the knowledge of it. “Now I can kill.”

Sam’s power is more than in strength, more than an invisible force to move demons around and twist them apart. It’s part of his body, part of everything, part of the air he draws in when he breathes. So when he extends his hand forward, and enjoys the look on Alistair’s face as the sheer possibility of it slowly dawns on the demon within the meat, he can feel with an exhilarating clarity the rest of the room. He can see Castiel’s slightly altered expression, which means the angel is shocked. He can hear the silence of the place. He can hear Dean’s fragile, reedy heartbeat, and that’s what steels Sam’s determination – Alistair does not deserve a quick death.

The power stutters from Sam’s hand like the best sort of release, like waking up on Christmas day to a real Christmas – only this time, there’s not the accompanying dismay that it’s not real, it’s not some mock Christmas that Dean has stolen from another family. The whitest of lights stretches towards Alistair, and there’s even a moment of stunned acceptance on Alistair’s face, and Sam can still feel the disbelief that’s showing on Castiel’s face by the tiniest arch of an eyebrow. This is the moment that Alistair, stunned as he is, expects to die.

Except when the light hits Alistair, he doesn’t.

Instead, the world around Sam’s feet stutters to a halt. The light washes outwards, drenching the room, and it almost hurts Sam’s eyes, but he adjusts to it with a small smile. Dean’s broken heartbeat, Castiel’s bewilderment, it’s all gone. The world has disappeared. Frozen.

And Sam has all the time in the world.

Alistair’s face stays screwed up for a long, delicious minute, flinching from the supposed pain that he expects to come straight away. Sam has spent a lot of his life waiting for things, and he knows anticipation is sometimes the worst kind of pain. He contemplates just sitting for a hundred years, smiling at Alistair. Sam tried it once – froze himself and a demon out of the world – held it for nearly a week, and the demon went absolutely mad. It sort of amuses Sam. Ruby thinks he just expels the demon out of the body. It’s more than that. It’s worse. If she only knew what her blood enabled him to do. He doesn’t expel the demon from the body, they tend to flee on their own, after he drives them mad. It’s sort of simple, really, and it usually takes a disappointingly short time.

Alistair, of course, should be a bit more fun.

The look of frozen fear on his face is almost delicious.

“What?” Sam says, slowly, a small smirk on his face. “You thought, what, you’d die in a flash of white light?”

Alistair’s still pinned to the wall, but Sam lets him move his head, enough to speak, enough to look and see what Sam has done. The whole room is etched in white, and it’s almost too bright to look at, but every detail of the room is still painfully there.

“Your mistake, of course, was going after Dean.”

Sam keeps his voice cool, and looks down at his brother, his tumbled body still on the ground. Sam ducks down, pushes Dean’s hair away from his bloodied eyes, and his fingers linger on his brother’s still-warm skin. 

And that’s when Alistair starts to laugh. Delighted. Gloating.

“Oh. That’s marvelous. All these years Azazel tried to turn his children, and you’re all destined for hell just on your own.”

Sam glances at Alistair, and fluidly straightens to his full height, keeping his expression neutral, letting Alistair have his last little gloat.

“The great thing about hell,” Sam says, “is it just takes thoughts to get you there, if you think them long enough.” He looks back down at Dean. “I’ve been in love with him for as long as I can remember. Which is a one-way ticket to hell. I get that.”

“You’re going to love it there,” Alistair says. “Pain twenty four seven. You’ll burn and bleed forever.”

“You’d think so,” Sam says, deliberately obtuse. He crosses the floor, almost casually, and leans against the iron structure that had failed to hold Alistair.

Alistair’s eyes flicker across to him. It’s this confusion that Sam loves. Demons love being in control, knowing things that others don’t, so being thwarted at every level is the kind of irony Sam is growing to appreciate more and more.

“You see,” Sam says slowly, “Dean’s still due to go to hell. Even after this is all over. If he dies during this war, then yes, the angels are going to drag him back out. But after the war is over, they won’t need him any more. When he dies, he’ll go straight back to hell. You and I both know that.”

“And you’ll be in hell too. But don’t think you’ll be in hell together. Ripping you two apart will be a joyous occasion for 99% of hell’s population,” Alistair says.

The waver in Alistair’s voice is gone, it’s growing stronger, and that’s what Sam’s been waiting for.

“There’s 666 seals, Alistair. There’s no way of stoppering them all. We all know that this war is going to end with the apocalypse. Lucifer’s rising.”

Alistair’s smirk is almost full-blown.

Which is the perfect time for Sam to say, “Of course, it’s hilarious. All the angels and demons running around like headless chickens and we’re at… over two hundred broken seals already.”

“You’re insane. You’re actually insane,” Alistair says, almost sounding delighted, but there’s a hesitation in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Sam says. 

He leans away from the structure, and that’s when Alistair sees that the iron has burnt right through Sam’s clothing and into his back. The stench of burnt flesh is thick. Sam walks back towards Dean, and Alistair audibly swallows as Sam’s flesh knots back together, and the rip in the cloth heals.

“See, hell is going to win this war,” Sam says. “And Dean and I both have a ticket to hell. There was only one way to win.”

He smiles, which somehow unnerves Alistair totally, and Sam stalks closer to him, slowly speaks the truth, enjoying Alistair’s shiver. “Lucifer was in a cage. It was easy enough to pull his power out, make it my own.”

Sam walks away, back to his starting position, and looks at Alistair, expressionless.

Sam stretches out his hand, and the white light begins to creep back in. Alistair begins to whimper in pain, but he refuses to cry out, trying to deprive Sam of the pleasure of seeing his agony.

As the room unfreezes, Dean’s heartbeat stuttering into Sam’s awareness, and Castiel’s unmoving look of consternation and fear, Sam projects his voice directly into Alistair’s head.

“I’m not killing you. I’m sending you back into what was Lucifer’s cage. Because you and I will have a lot of time to enjoy each other’s company. You made a mistake touching Dean. He’s mine. You see, Hell’s going to win this war. It already has. Dean and I will die. And as soon as we die, and Dean and I go to hell… Hell will be mine. My hell, my rules. Dean will be safe forever. The world will be safe from demons and angels. And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you there.”

The white light clenches around Alistair’s spine, like lightning, and Alistair screams and screams and screams.


End file.
